


But You're Mine

by Esca



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Makaracest, PWP, Piercingstuck, Siblingstuck, help me i can't stop writing them, indigocest, shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esca/pseuds/Esca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silence is the default noise in the Makara household, and it's driving Gamzee insane. He'll do just about anything to get Kurloz to speak--anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Humanstuck. Kurloz/Gamzee PWP with switching POVs. Hopefully not too confusing for anyone. Kurloz is mute by choice in this--and still has his tongue for needed pornographic purposes. Enjoy!

The bars in Kurloz’s mouth remind Gamzee of stitches. They used to terrify him when he was younger, all neat in a row and perfect, even, impossibly straight. Their father had simply roared at him that he’d _“PIERCE HIMSELF SHUT IF HE COULD, WOULDN’T HE?”_ and Gamzee remembers his brother simply giving him a lax smile and making these odd little gestures with his hands.

_"SAVE THAT SHIT FOR YOUR LITTLE GIRLFRIEND."_

Sometimes Kurloz tried to teach him sign language. He was still young enough at this point that he idolized him and wanted to be exactly like his sibling, so he’d acquiesce him, deep down wondering why his brother had resorted to _this_ as a method of communication instead of simply _talking,_ like he’d used to when they were kids.

As Gamzee got older and older, his patience lessened. Silence was the default sound in the Makara household, and it was _maddening._ Their father was too busy for them, absent and consistently away for work-related ventures, so it was only the two of them. Even when Meulin decided that she would rather be friends with his brother, he was still insistent upon talking with his _fucking hands._

_“You’re not mute, motherfucker.”_

_“Fucking talk to me, you piece of shit.”_

Nothing. _Nothing at all._

Not even when he’d gotten suspended for choking Equius Zahhak and clocking Meulin’s baby sister, Nepeta, for coming to her best friend’s defense. He’d simply smirked and ignored the furious gestures Kurloz made, and his angry indigo eyes. Funny, why had it taken him so long to see what a _fucking loser_ he really was?

He needed a little truth force-fed to him.

_I’ll make you talk yet, fucker. I’ll make you say everything._

_You’re gonna put those vocal chords to work._

_GONNA FUCKING RIP THOSE BARS OUT YOUR PRETTY LIPS._

He slept with them in. His face was washed clean of grease paint, making him look less the freak he was and more like a fucking human being. Leaning in slightly as his brother slept soundly on the sofa, blue glow of the television blanketing his skin as his neglected Metalocalypse DVD played on, Gamzee felt a warm wash of breath on his lips as Kurloz exhaled through the small space the bars afforded him to open his mouth. He eyed the bar running through his sibling’s labret and cupid’s bow, index finger mock-innocently touching the others until his brother’s lashes fluttered open. His gaze was tired, barely coherent, and his sign language was sloppy as he asked Gamzee what he was doing.

“Just here to up and deliver you a little friendly truthagram, bro. You’re a _motherfuckin’ loser_ stuck in the past who thought it’d be _real bitchtits kinds of romantic_ to give yourself a handicap you don’t even got just to _make a kittybitch wanna be with you._ Bet that’s why she up and left your ass--got tired of you _faking it._ Ain’t nobody gonna want no _poser fuck_ like you, with your fancy little hand-words and pierced mouth _actin’_ like you’re a mute motherfucker.”

He wasn’t expecting Kurloz’s hands around his throat, or that near-crushing grip. Gamzee coughed and choked, his eyes near bulging from the sockets in shock as he clawed at the vicegrip around the column of his neck, his sibling’s hands not even budging. The only thing he remembered before passing out was indigo staring straight at him, hard and emotionless.

_Just fucking say something._

The ten little bruises on his throat in the shape of fingerprints proved that it wasn’t a dream. Kurloz won’t even look at him. Gamzee feels like he’s going insane, and all for the want of his voice, his _acknowledgement._

_HOW DARE YOU FUCKING IGNORE ME YOU TRASH._

He fantasizes about cutting off Kurloz’s hands at the wrist. Or at least chopping off his fucking fingers. He digs his fingers into the yellow, purpling bruises that are left behind like faint reminders, and the pain he feels makes him feel alive.

He hates his brother. He hates him with a passion unbridled and unmatched. He is beginning to think the feeling is mutual--he is nothing but hell for Kurloz, and he knows his brother wouldn’t dare think of calling their father home over something as trivial as _parenting._ Gamzee actively gets into trouble at school whenever the opportunity arises, he is a little shit at home, mocking, disobedient.

It feels _good._

It feels _great_ when Kurloz comes after him because he loses his temper, all perfect and wrathful, so fucking _regal_ in his anger.

_Get angry for me, you motherfuckin’ prince of rage._

_I want your spite._

_YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH I’M UP AND SERVING YOU._

He’s expecting to be choked again. Maybe punched or thrown around like he’s nothing more than a rag doll. Not to be tossed down on the sofa, and have his arms pinned above his head.

_Immobilized._

Before he can even make some kind of snarky comment, his lips are being bruised by piercings.

_This is all kinds of fucking new._

He’s still silent, even as Kurloz plants cold, open-mouthed kisses along Gamzee’s neck and jaw haphazardly. If this is supposed to be punishment for picking on that Jane Crocker girl earlier at school today, then the younger of the two doesn’t think he minds all that much. Because this is what he’s been wanting.

_Acknowledgement. Apparently of any fucking kind._

He knows it, and now Kurloz knows it, with the way he squirms slightly and bites back a groan.

If he hadn’t known any better, he'd have thought he’d heard a raspy, hoarse _‘slut’_ in his ear. But his brother doesn’t speak. _Ever._

Kurloz releases his hold on his wrists to divest him of his t-shirt, black-lacquered fingertips memorizing every dip and crevasse in his ribcage as he inhales and exhales sharply. Gamzee knows his brother is just as thin and bony as he is, if not more, his hands creeping up under his skeleton-print hoodie and shirt to feel the ridges of his spinal cord. He spares a brief thought for their father, hulking, masculine, and wonders how the man produced two brittle boys such as them before he is henceforth distracted with his sibling taking off said hoodie and shirt both at once, peeling them over his head and tossing them aside. Kurloz crushes his lips to his again, and the cold metal of the bars running through his lips are nothing but an annoyance at this point to Gamzee.

“Take them the fuck out.”

He’s anticipating a frown, and a shake of the head in a negative. He’s not expecting Kurloz to gently unscrew and remove all five of the long surface bars piercing his mouth shut. But he does, and they are set off to the side, and fuck it all if he comes off eager, but their next shared liplock is perfect, stale in taste and wonderful as tongues collide and mingle, fighting for control with neither willing to give in so easily.

_You’re fucking mine you’ve always been mine messiahs above I fucking hate you love you you’re MOTHERFUCKIN’ MINE, bro._

He repeats this over and over in his head like a mantra, a boy possessed with religious fervor as Kurloz literally bites and scratches down his torso, leaving bloody teeth marks and cuts in his wake, red stains under his fingernails as he tears at the button of his baby brother’s jeans, indigo eyes darkened to near-black by lust and need, the unspoken desire for flesh against flesh, sinew and bone cracking, melding, becoming one, moving in perfect unison. Gamzee threads his fingers through Kurloz’s messy, unbrushed locks and pulls violently, evoking a growl that sends all the blood in his body straight to his groin, fuck, he’s so hard he can barely stand it. Lifting his hips, he hisses as coarse denim and stiff cotton rub painfully against his erection as they’re all but yanked off his bottom half unceremoniously, thrown to land where the fuck they may.

He doesn’t even have time to register Kurloz’s face burying in his groin because it’s all happening so fast, too fast, and sweet bitching deities, his brother has him in his mouth, all hot and wet and slick, imperfect and with the deliciously masochistic slight sting of teeth. If the angels of death were to want him now, then merciful fucks, they could take him, because this was everything he’d always wanted but didn’t even know it until it motherfucking happened and he could die young and happy.

“Fuck... bro... Kur--” Gamzee is cut off by a strangled noise issuing deep from the pit of his chest as the elder Makara swallows around him, all the air in his lungs seeming to escape in one harsh, ragged gasp. He digs his toes into the couch cushions and his thighs are quaking, trembling as his brother continues his torturous onslaught, but yet it’s still not enough.

_More._

He’s selfish. He wants everything he can wrench and drag out of sibling. He wants to rile him up, he wants to be split in two and used as Kurloz sees fit, and when it’s all over, he’s going to crave it all over again and never fucking stop.

_Wanna hook my fingers in the veins ‘round your bloodpusher and yank them out like threads. Gonna pluck them pretty heartstrings like the most righteous of wicked bards, gonna play your body like its a sweet-ass instrument that only I’m knowing how to touch, bro._

Gamzee grits his teeth so hard it hurts, and the hand he has buried in the depths of Kurloz’s curling, jet-black locks pulls again hard as he moves his hips, rasping the other’s name shakily as he feels himself get closer and closer to the edge. He feels his cock hit the back of his sibling’s throat, and it’s all over for him. With a harsh shout, he cums hard in Kurloz’s mouth, sticky and hot and hips thrusting powerfully as his brother swallows down his essence like it’s sustenance. He’s pushed back down onto the cushions roughly, a hand around the column of his neck as he’s kissed harshly, and he can taste the lingering remnants of his salty stick on the older’s lips, addictive and bittersweet.

He can’t help but purr deep in his chest as fingers tighten, restricting his airflow as his mouth is savaged by sharp incisors, biting and tearing the sensitive skin on his lips and drawing blood. Gamzee hooks his arms around Kurloz’s shoulders, raking his blunt fingernails up his shoulderblades and leaving angry red trails, little droplets of blood welling up from where he’d tore through epidermal layers. He registers the sound of a zipper being undone, and his breathing hitches, identical eyes glancing down as Kurloz fishes his hard cock from his asphyxiatingly tight pants.

Gamzee looks him back in the eye like he’s found a new religion, excitement and arousal again present in his spent body. “You gonna motherfuckin’ put it in me? Always knew you were a sick puppy, bro... fuckin’ your little brother... that shit’s nasty.”

Kurloz gives him a blank look, and backhands him across the face harshly, shoving two fingers deep enough into Gamzee’s mouth to choke him, and thrusts them in and out lewdly in mimicry of the inevitable. Once the elder Capricorn is satisfied, he hikes one of his baby brother’s legs up on his shoulder and relishes the noises he is gifted with as he is anything but gentle when inserting that first crucial finger. They are addictive, like an unchained melody in their desperation as he soon adds the second, scissoring them widely and twisting his wrist in circular motions while stretching out that impossibly-tight orifice that he has every intentions of brutalizing, owning.

As he reduces the younger to a writhing, cursing mess, Kurloz smiles. Nasty it may have been, sinful so it was, but only the twin angels of death could judge him now, he thinks as he curls his index finger just so, making Gamzee near howl in pleasure and yell his insistence to be fucked that very second. Removing his fingers and spitting a couple times into the palm of his hand, he shoddily slicks up his arousal and positions himself up against the puckered entrance of Gamzee’s ass, and with one thrust, he doesn’t stop until he is fully seated inside of him, scalding hot and perfectly constricting.

Gamzee feels his heart literally pause then start back up again as he is penetrated, spine arching into a perfect arc and eyes clenching shut as he bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to make a droplet of blood trail down his chin, which Kurloz leans down and licks up self-indulgently with a smirk as he jerks his hips forward.

_**Little baby brother, sweet, annoying, fucked-up little baby brother. You’re all mine now, you little bitch. And I’ll fucking tear your ass apart if you ever up and motherfucking sass-mouth me again with those blasphemous lips. Gonna rip you in two and make it burn so hot, so fucking good that you feel like you’re dying. I am your mirthful messiah, and I’m gonna make sure you know it.** _

Pulling Gamzee’s other leg up to join the one haphazardly resting on his shoulder, he near bends the other in half and jackhammers into him, relishing the choked gasps and strangled moans that are his personal victory as Gamzee clutches the side of the sofa with one hand for purchase, the other gripping Kurloz’s shoulder and digging in, leaving five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints as he is used, abused.

_Acknowledged._

Thrusting inside of him hard a few more times, Kurloz pulls out and forces Gamzee onto his belly, hooking an arm around his waist and hiking him up as he slams back in his ass and fucks him like a beast, slight noises and soft, barely-audible moans escaping as his flesh slaps against his. His pulse hikes, and the blood in his veins feels like liquid fire as he goes slack-jawed, exhaling sharply and bringing his palm down flat on his sibling’s ass, a satisfying and resounding smack audible despite the sounds of their frantic rutting.

Leaning down, he moves a curling lock of dark hair dampened with sweat behind Gamzee’s ear and kisses under his earlobe before whispering in a voice hoarse and raspy long from disuse, “You piss me off so motherfucking much, but I love you, baby brother.”

For him, for this moment, he’ll break his vow of silence. He hopes that he’ll cherish it, because it’s not going to happen again.

Gamzee buries his face into a decorative pillow and his chest aches at the sound of Kurloz’s voice, his dusky baritone thick in his ear like syrup and sin. It’s overwhelming, consuming, and he staggers his breathing, reaching his arm back and burying his hand back in thick black locks to pull his brother in for a kiss that makes his heart want to combust. He mouths his mutual assent into the liplock, releasing him and half-moaning, half-screaming as Kurloz angles his frenzied thrusts just so and rams his prostate over and over again, the bundle of nerves prey to his savagery.

Curling his hand around Gamzee’s cock, Kurloz pumps it in time with his movements, and drags his tongue down the descent of the younger Makara’s spine, tasting the salt and tang of his sweat. He’s tightening up around him, and the urge to cum is consuming, but he wants the other to reach completion first. Drawing Gamzee in closer, he thrusts inside him deep as he can go, and it’s all his brother needs, because he’s warbling, arching his back so severely Kurloz marvels at how he hasn’t broken something, and his semen is warm in his palm and sticky.

As Gamzee ascends to nirvana, he tightens up around Kurloz to the point of pain, and he’s done for, burying himself inside of his younger sibling to the hilt as hot ropes of ejaculate shoot from his dick and into the depths of Gamzee’s spent ass. His pants are a mess, he’s sweaty and gross and the knowledge he just fucked his baby brother is sinking in, but he can’t seem to find the means to give a damn anymore.

Kurloz pulls out, and looks down at Gamzee, watching him through lidded, tired eyes as the other male lays his head back on one of the throw pillows and promptly passes out, skin still hot to the touch but slowly cooling as he comes down off his high and into the afterglow.

He’s not expecting things to be different. He’s not expecting Gamzee to stop being a little fucking shit with a big mouth and an annoying honking laugh who ceaselessly pesters him on end to _fucking talk to him, you son of a bitch._

But he is expecting their relationship to be different. To evolve. Into what, he isn’t sure. The only thing Kurloz has to go on is that his pesky little brother loves him.

And that is enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :o)


End file.
